The Writer's Mind

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I struggled at first to come up with an image to accompany this poem. What sort of image is best to encompass dreams, imagination, thought? Initially, I browsed images of space and mountains and oceans, before I realized that that was the wrong direction. Imagination doesn't have to encompass grandeur, it simply has to be representative of the act of creation. With that in mind, I settled on a simple typewriter, and the romantic vision all writers harbor at one time or another of themselves sitting down to its formidable keys.

What appears on the white blank page is a pure act of creation. Now we can argue about influences and style and sources of inspiration, but the bottom line is that the page begins empty and ends filled. There is no shortcut around that, though it's rarely a linear process. Iterations have occurred through the ages via crossed out words, erased phrases, whited out punctuation marks, and, finally, the backspace key. Nonetheless, something is written. 

In this case, the something that was written was a poem I penned back in 2016. I was reading Walden at the time, and it is clear that I had Thoreau and transcendentalism on my mind. One may even say he was a source of inspiration for this poem, though the words flowed through my pen. I write poetry only occasionally, and rarely do I do so in a structured manner. However, I wrote this poem as a Sonnet, which if you don't recall from tenth grade English, has 10 syllables per line and is written in iambic pentameter with an A-B-A-B, C-D-C-D, E-F-E-F rhyme style for the first three verses, followed by a G-G finish. In traditional spiritual fashion, imposing a little bit of structure seemed to bring out words that I would not have otherwise expected. 

→The Writer's Mind

A bit of a walking contradiction; 

He aimed to be so grounded, but instead

Filled his head with fantasies and fiction,

Dreaming bigger with each book that he read.

Witty and charming, though shy to a fault,

He craved the wilderness and solitude;

Which once attained, his mind ran without halt,

Longing for company he had eschewed.

He did not seek those familiar to him,

No, he sought those known only by his mind,

As if in a story of his own whim

Free to envision life as he inclined.

Still it left him adrift, wanting for more,

So again to his thoughts, worlds to explore.

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.

Thoreau #4, or Cheap Society

Let us return to our series on Thoreau with a discussion of his thoughts on society and the frequency with which we see one another. The topic is apropos for our modern day where, thanks to cell phones and the internet, we are rarely out of contact with our entire network unless we choose to be. If Thoreau felt that seeing one another in person too often could result in a cheapening of relationships, one can only imagine what he would have to say about our incessant texting, emailing, and messaging. 

"Society is commonly too cheap. We meet at very short intervals, not having had time to acquire any new value for each other. We meet at meals three times a day, and give each other a new taste of that old musty cheese that we are. We have had to agree on a certain set of rules, called etiquette and politeness, to make this frequent meeting tolerable and that we need not come to open war. We meet at the post-office, and at the sociable, and about the fireside every night; we live thick and are in each other’s way, and stumble over one another, and I think that we thus lose some respect for one another. Certainly less frequency would suffice for all important and hearty communications."

Where to begin? This quote is near and dear to my heart, for a number of reasons. One such explanation that the reader may assign to this is standoffishness. However, dear reader, don’t think me so simple, nor think such things of Thoreau himself. 

While I am – and Thoreau was – decidedly introverted, I am not averse to human interaction, nor should you be, either. We have already covered how no one can exist truly isolated, and the above quote in no way alters that fact. As an aside, and while we are on the topic, I strongly recommend reading Susan Cain’s exceedingly accurate and masterful book Quiet. It is spot on in its analysis and description of navigating life as an introspective and solitude-seeking individual, of which I no doubt am, Thoreau no doubt was, and perhaps you are. If so, the above quote from Thoreau likely resonates with you, as well.

But then let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Let’s examine that first sentence: “Society is commonly too cheap.” It is such a simple statement that carries so much weight. Thoreau is not talking about society as a whole, or even the prevailing culture of the time. It wasn’t that there was a dearth of quality artists or thinkers in the mid-nineteenth century, and Thoreau chose to level a pointed critique at society as a whole. Rather, Thoreau is speaking to society in terms of guests invited over to one’s home or out for an evening, what we would more commonly refer to as company.

This statement rings even truer in the modern world, where we can be constantly connected with one another via the internet and our phones. Thoreau isn’t necessarily calling any one of us bad company, but oftentimes too frequent company. When we interact on such a regular basis, it becomes difficult to bring anything new or noteworthy to the table when we again speak. If I have just spoken with you yesterday, and nothing notable has occurred in the day since, there is really no reason to drop you a line on the basis that we have a traditional standing appointment of hearing from one another.

Frequent communication lacking new intrigue is a recipe for setting up an echo chamber, as we see with modern social media. With nothing new or better to discuss, conversations will quickly lapse into familiar and established ruts: complaints about work, complaints about the weather, complaints about other people, rehashing political viewpoints that have already been articulated, re-debates of the merits of keeping or trading player X from team Y, the list goes on. If we cannot garner anything more robust to talk about than the above list or similar, perhaps it would be best to either let the silence remain or to seek out fresh company.

Fresh company does not have to mean finding someone else to spend your time with, though that is a valid option. For, you see, you may find yourself to be the best company at given times. This is not a pass to be anti-social. In many cases you should and will even want to be in the company of others. However, it is also important that we all know how to spend time alone with our thoughts, comfortably and without allowing those thoughts to become self-destructive. Self-destruction can come in several forms including berating yourself for past mistakes, allowing yourself to make new mistakes in the same vein as those past mistakes, having belittling thoughts of others or yourself, slothfulness, and so forth.

I caution against slothfulness in particular because this is one of my acute weaknesses. Generally, I would be described as a type-A, driven individual, which in most cases holds true. There are times, however, when my most self-destructive habit is a sort of slothfulness and inaction resulting from a combination of fear, anxiety, and worst of all, boredom. 

Fear and anxiety usually stem from the fear of knowing that I have a lot on my plate, but at times, no motivation to do it. Fear and anxiety can also stem from a feeling of loneliness and isolation. It all plays out into a sort of ambivalence. Each of these can be easy enough to do battle with, though. In the case of the former, make action a part of your daily life until it is ingrained in you as part of your routine. It becomes routine to look at the list of to-do items in your head, or on paper if you’re of that mold, and begin attacking them. It isn’t so important whether you get to everything or are successful in every aspect. The key is that you make progress, thus avoiding fear-induced slothfulness in the first place. 

In the case of the latter, modern society provides numerous ways to get in touch with friends, even across great distances. Say you’ve moved to a new city, and you’ve been gone long enough that, even after making new friends, you begin to miss your old friends. Technology provides you ample ways to contact them, and you just might find, as Thoreau alludes to, that your relationship has been enhanced by even a brief separation.

Now I want to address boredom-induced slothfulness. This is the most subtle and perhaps the most difficult to deal with, though in principle it should be less so. I hesitated and consequently chose not to refer to it as contentment-induced slothfulness, because of the positive connotation attached to the word contentment. However, this may be a fair characterization of the feeling. 

Contentment or boredom – whichever you prefer in this instance – is what makes it difficult for me to start and finish – particularly finish – a blogpost such as this. At times I can be content in the plans that I have for the blog, and therefore find myself unmotivated to actually work on it. Envisioning the finished product of a blog post and how it may be received can undermine the drive to actually put in consistent work on the blog, though writing invariably brings me joy. We are getting off course from discussing the company we keep and how frequently, so let's return to our main premise. 

Though we need to become comfortable in the company of our own thoughts, keeping exclusively our own company too often becomes a recipe for self-destruction. Just as relationships may become stagnant with too frequent communication, we also run the risk of stagnating ourselves by not recognizing the signs and allowing solitude to turn into loneliness and to get the better of us. Each individual will have different tolerance levels for human interaction as well as for solitude. It is up to you to find that happy medium which neither allows society to become too cheap nor isolates you from it.

Less time engrossed in our own company and less in the company of those familiar to us also leaves the door open for more opportunities to make new acquaintances. It is a well-meaning game that we all play in which we hope that we might positively influence someone else’s life, just as they hope that their interactions with us will have had a similar effect. You will find that touching someone’s life in such a way, however briefly, will indeed, suffice, and commonly result in a richer society.

Sonnet 73, or The Onset of Autumn

Bryce Canyon, Utah

The autumn season officially begins today. For some, that means falling leaves and changing colors, as in my photo above from Bryce Canyon one October a few years back. For others, it means the onset of football, the re-emergence of pumpkin spice-themed beverages, and a return to school. For others, it means a cooling of the weather and a long-awaited (or dreaded) return to cozy coats and sweaters. For others, it's merely a scientific recognition of the earth's changing position as it revolves around the sun.

And for still others, autumn marks a time of reflection. It's a well-worn trope, but for good reason. Autumn reminds us of the end of all things. It reminds us that there will come a day when we are no longer youthful, and all that we have to look back upon are our memories of what once was. This feeling is captured splendidly in William Shakespeare's famous Sonnet 73, which is reproduced below.

That time of year thou mayst in me behold

When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang

Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,

Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.

In me thou see'st the twilight of such day

As after sunset fadeth in the west,

Which by and by black night doth take away,

Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.

In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire

That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,

As the death-bed whereon it must expire,

Consum'd with that which it was nourish'd by.

This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong,

To love that well which thou must leave ere long.

The imagery is resplendent, as the reader can practically feel the chill wind upon their face and watch the final yellow leaf fall gently to the earth. It takes the reader and puts them firmly in a memory of their own. For Shakespeare, and for many of us in the mid-latitudes of the northern hemisphere, autumn also marks a return to crisp mornings, chilly evenings, and even a bit of frost upon the ground. 

Autumn does eventually lead to a time of slumber in winter followed by renewal in spring. But in autumn, let's pretend that we do not know what awaits. All that we have to guide us is a slowing down that can be felt. The days shorten – as Shakespeare eloquently captures in his description of the setting sun – the weather cools, and the air simply has a feeling about it. It is calm and relaxed. 

Autumn invites us, too, to slow down, to take a break from our ceaseless pursuit of productivity (more on this in a future post). Shakespeare even warns of such pursuits, warning us that we – which is to say, life – will inevitably be "Consum'd with that which it was nourish'd by." The Bible likewise instructs us that things will one day come to an end: "The end of all things is near. Therefore be alert and of sober mind so that you may pray" (1 Peter 4:7). Whether you are inclined to pray or not, I read this as a call to reflection. Slow down and be of sober mind, so that you may reflect on life and its many blessings, as well as its many hardships. Nonetheless the implication is clear: slow down. 

Shakespeare ends by imploring us "To love that well which thou must leave ere long." This is a concept which is preached in nearly every philosophical and religious tradition: be present. Do not let your mind dwell on that which is not in front of you, lest your time slip away and you not even notice. As Ecclesiastes 3 reminds us, there is a time and a season for everything. Autumn is the time and the season for rest and reflection. Be not wearied, rather, cozy up and take time to listen for the "Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds [sing]." Listen well, and you may find that you hear more than just birdsong. 

Flash Fiction: To Be Truly Alone

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It's been awhile since I posted original fiction, so I thought it would be fun to reflect back on a piece that I wrote for a flash fiction (fewer than 1000 words) contest back in 2018. It's a first foray into action and science-fiction for me, and certainly stretched my comfort zone. 

My intent was to highlight and speak to the sheer vastness of the Universe, and particularly how small humanity can feel in that context. Not only is the Universe vast and presumably empty, but humanity is the only intelligent species that we are aware of to date. Whether – or perhaps, when – we encounter another civilization, what will that mean for us? What will it do to our psyche? And what will it mean to be human in that new context? 

These themes are all too lengthy to fully flesh out in fewer than 1000 words, of course, but they are themes that I hope this piece at least touches on – with some fast-paced action driving the narrative. Below is a brief synopsis introducing the story, followed by the story itself. I had a blast writing it, and the process made me want to pick up an HG Wells novel and do a deep-dive into classic sci-fi (The Time Machine and The Island of Dr. Moreau are probably my two favorites of his). Hopefully it will provide the same impetus for you.

Synopsis: The two sides had been friendly for many years, but when one turns suddenly violent and takes captive an unarmed individual, her only remaining recourse is to make a desperate attempt to free herself and find out what else her captors are planning, before it is too late.

→To Be Truly Alone 

The bucolic dream melted away, the rolling green hills replaced by stainless steel walls, cold to the touch and colder in their sterility. Paisley flexed her fingers, struggling to regain control of herself. She looked to the bruises dotting her arms, examined a still bleeding gash in her leg. She could only imagine what her face must look like. 

They had never been violent before. Something must have changed, spurred them on; either that or they were incredible at playing the long con. She didn’t intend on waiting around to find out what they wanted, or perhaps had already taken.

Setting to work, she looked to the opposite wall, as she remembered that it was a one-way mirror. Paisley knew her captors were impressionable, so she stared into her own reflection, hoping one of them was manning the booth hidden behind. Within a few seconds, she crumpled to the floor. She lay motionless, listening hard. Sure enough, the door clicked open, and one of them crept in, reaching its grey, scabbed hand forth to feel for her pulse. At its touch, Paisley grabbed it by the wrist and rolled it into a choke maneuver, making the most of her size advantage.

“Where am I?” she hissed into its lone ear. “Don’t!” She grabbed the stun prod from its flailing hands and took the keycard dangling from its belt. The body in her grasp went limp, the trachea of its thin neck crushed. “Dammit.”

Paisley briefly wondered if she might feel remorse later; no time for it now. The keycard let her into the observation deck behind the mirror, where she frantically searched for clues as to her whereabouts. Shoving the card into the nearest terminal, its screen lit up on the home page. “Welcome to Reynolds Embassy 2117 – Europa Station. Enter login credentials.”

Shit. Her captors were using their embassy orbiting a human outpost to hold her. They must have staged a coup. It would only be a matter of time before they mobilized to target earth, if they hadn’t already. She drug the limp body of the guard into the booth and used its palmprint to gain access to the system. A quick search of the mainframe confirmed her fears. She had to move fast: It would only be a matter of minutes before they realized she’d escaped the holding room. 

Gathering up the keycard and prod, she shuffled out of the booth and into the hallway, searching for a medical wing. If she didn’t get the prodigious bleeding from her leg stopped, she wouldn’t get far. Voices around the corner. Paisley tried the keycard at the nearest door and slipped inside. 

It was dark and smelled of cleaning products. She searched the cleaning cart with fumbling fingers and came across a mending kit. Not exactly prime first aid, but it would have to do. Trembling, she withdrew a needle and threaded it, plunged it into her thigh, and worked quickly to stitch together her leg. Tears flowed unbidden from her eyes. Fatigued, Paisley struggled to piece together her situation. 

They had drawn blood from her, of that she was certain. The gash and bruises? Testing her healing response, likely. Then it hit her: they lacked white blood cells. That would explain the scabbed over skin. Wounds could never heal properly because of constant risk of infection. A final genetic modification they wished to make before engaging in intergalactic war. She had to get this information out to her side.

Easing the door open, she made her way down the hall, looking for a breathing apparatus. Her suit would have been incinerated, or locked up, at least. She prayed that it was only locked up. Using the darkness to her advantage, she picked her way past several open doors toward the end of the corridor. Supply room. Excellent. 

Once inside, she was elated to find her suit still intact. She pulled it on and fitted the helmet on snugly, attaching an extra oxygen cannister to her belt. Her best hope was to make it to open space and activate her beacon. Then it would be a race for humanity to recover her body first.

Hideous alarm sirens let her know that they had discovered her escape. Time to move. Extending the telescoping stun prod, she made her way back into the hall. She had 100 yards to go, and three armored individuals were already running at her. She parried a thrust of a stun prod from the first, using its momentum to shove it in the back and send it flailing behind her. The second vaulted off the wall, aiming for her head. Paisley dropped to her knees, sliding below its attack along the smooth floor. She sprung to her feet and kept running. The third combatant stood resolutely in front of her. Wrong move, she thought. She hit it square in the chest like a jouster, sending it flying the opposite direction.

Small as they were, she knew their true advantages lay in intellectual prowess, sheer numbers, and a certain disregard for human ethics. She had to make it out alive and warn humanity. Reaching the exit, she thrust the guard’s keycard into the slot. Nothing. It required two-factor authentication. Panicking, spurred on by the footsteps of a multitude of them just around the corner, she ran to retrieve the card off the body of her nearest dispatched opponent, ignoring the sharp pain in her leg.

With a thrill she watched them barreling down the hall, headed straight for her. Paisley sprinted back to the door. Reaching to her wrist controls, she calmly switched on her beacon.

She was afraid, certainly, but also disappointed. Decades ago, humanity had come to know that they weren’t alone in the universe. But in a way they were still alone, of this much she was certain. With nary a glance back, she pushed the second keycard into the airlock, watched the doors slide open, and launched herself into the void.

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.