The Tree and the Squirrel

Some … are born without any sense of time. As consequence, their sense of place becomes heightened to excruciating degree.

                                                                    -Alan Lightman, Einstein's Dreams

The backyard buzzes with the bustle of the usual morning hub-ub. Larks sing their songs and mockingbirds repeat them. Moles furiously undo yesterday’s work and start new tunnels. Worms travel to the cooler patch of grass. The speckles of low-sun light filter through tree leaves as they practice their tai-chi in the wind.

On the hunt, an old squirrel looks for breakfast. He jumps half a foot, stops and cocks his head slightly, apparently listening, and sprints to the next spot two feet away. His belly is as curved as his cheeks, but his quick step implies this morning’s mission is for something beyond the next meal. An acorn, round as the sun, sits near a young oak. The Squirrel, feeling the prideful sense of jackpot, quickly grabs the acorn and begins inspecting it for wormholes.

The Tree watched the squirrel climb down his neighbor’s branches and whispered, “You can leave any time. Any time you’d like.” The Squirrel twitched his whiskers in response. “Leave? Why would I wish to leave?” he asked.

“What is the point of staying here when the earth is cold and the light is muted? Every year I grow taller, and every year I lose my beautiful leaves.” The tree paused. “The birds tell me the trees in the South are always green. They never sleep. I must be missing out,” said the Tree.

 “Silliness,” said the Squirrel, evaluating an even rounder acorn. “It’s not in a tree’s nature to leave. The place a seed picks is the place a tree lives.” Squirrel cracked open the acorn, and contemplated this while chewing the insides. “Well, how would you get there? To the South?”

“Wait for a storm, perhaps. I could loosen my roots with enough rain and the wind could take me away.”

The Squirrel paused his chewing. “How would you know if you’re heading South in a storm?”

The Tree could not answer this question, and so it did what trees did best, responding in silence.

Another acorn, 30 feet away, caught the Squirrel’s eye. That acorn, he thought, would be worth at least two meals. Quickly, he bounded away from the younger oak to the shade of an older oak, to pick up the newly found treasure.

The Tree considered the conversation, and what it means to be a “tree.”

Ruckers: Brick and Telephone Pole Caddies

Yesterday I learned about GoRuck, where groups of regular people who themselves through hellish tasks like carrying bricks for miles. The activities are based on Special Forces training and experiences. Teams of folks are led by one cadre, and must endure anywhere from 4 - 24 hours of unending push ups, buddy carrying, and crawling through the Atlantic in December. It sounds like ultra-marathoning, but with lots of weights and people. 

A colleague described his recent GoRuck experience, which involved hauling a telephone pole uphill, as bruise-inducing, and amazing. The goal was to get the job done (teamwork!) versus doing it in a specific time. Through Google, I found that a normal telephone pole weighs approximately 1200 pounds. I also discovered that people pay anywhere from $60-$350 for such an experience. As I was listening, I couldn't wrap my head around it. Why would extreme physical activity be enjoyable? I'd break 20 minutes in with a nap or cookie request.

These types of conversations make me wish I were made of harder stuff – the endurance piece alone sounds intimidating. I can barely function in a 65 degree room for more than a few hours. It makes me realize how different people are built, because I prefer the benefits of mental understimulation (meditation and sleep mainly).  

I’m more likely to stop and smell the roses when I focus on relaxing my mind, which doesn't involved log-carrying. We’re all trying to come to the same point though, which is feeling exhilarated, a sense of togetherness, and proving something to yourself. It’s the stuff of happiness. 

13 Journals and the Puzzles of Life

Yesterday I filled another journal, and it surprisingly only took six months (most of the time the span is longer). My first journal was given to me at the ripe age of 8, and it was a proper diary outfitted with a lock and detachable pen. I wasn't sure what was supposed to go in it at first, so I just wrote about stuff that happened throughout that day. I was perhaps a quarter of the way through the pages when a frenemy at school broke my brain with the explanation of sex. Just the word, SEX, made me stop breathing because it was about the weirdest thing you could do with another person (besides hugging them). I wrote as much as I could into that diary, just so I could get the idea out of my head. People couldn't and shouldn't know what I know. I hid it under a couch cushion, locked, and booby trapped with invisible hairs, so I’d know when to relocate it.

Filled journals spanning a decade.

Since then, I've made it a habit to write out all the bumps, absurdities, and thoughts that muddle my head or drive my emotions to critical mass. Sometimes, I go back to those personal Wikis to see what was going on at a given point.  

“Liz, if we ever dated, it would be great and more fun than I could ever hope to be, but it wouldn't pan out in the end.” I wrote that in the spring of 2004, when I was preparing to take on the world after college. I wrote it, mainly because I couldn't figure out why he told me in the first place. He was intimidatingly smart, and right, of course. This was one of the many instances where I didn't understand what a guy was saying, and it took me almost a decade to catch up. It went in the journal because I was fixated on the honesty and ambiguity of that statement.  Reading it now reminds me how hard it is to date someone, or even find someone who clicks with you and is simultaneously good for you.

So today I start a new journal. It will most likely contain some remnants of the late night conversation I had with Jason last night on how we fall into our own traps. Or maybe just how incredibly delicious this tea is.  Probably both.

Bag Lady

Today, I read this article on Coach, who would like to remake themselves by offering a variety of products (specifically bags) ranging from low to high end. I've never really understood marketing strategy, and usually buy things that are sturdy, or have cartoon kitty cats on them. 

A chocolate bar with a cat on it!

Neatness was always more important than personal ‘flair,’ and probably to the dismay of many, find handbag shopping to be especially grating (on par with finding the right brand of toothpaste). Handbags, if you didn't know, are actually the vehicles for getting water and candy into movie theaters. They offer an acceptable location for credit cards, keys, and chapstick when your pockets are considered nonfunctional decorative. 

I’m a self-sufficient woman with needs. I get hungry, tired, food in my teeth, and bored while traversing the grocery store-club-work-airports. It’s not enough to skip through places like I did as a kid, especially when money exchange is necessary. A bag to carry everything reminds me of either being a grownup or being mortal, regardless of price. Why does a bag matter? I own half a dozen bags (or pocketbooks if you're from southern Virginia), and 100 plastic bags from various grocery stores, which also serve useful purposes. 

"Mine," said Zoe.

Let's talk about brand name. Sometimes a brand represents quality or another esoteric quality, like ethics. Evidently, the Gap was one of two apparel companies who received the Most Ethical Companies award in 2013. I’m all for pro choice consumerism, but if there was a Venn diagram of ethics, quality, and function, there’d be only a few options left. Let’s be honest, a bag is a bag. In spite of the economy's best efforts to drag us all down, there are some great options to store all your portable shit under $50 which don’t need to be divided by work/play/corresponding outfit categories.

I’m not in the appropriate social circle to declare that a specific brand matters beyond those criteria, and I’m not opposed to choosing a bag (or brand) based on what a person likes. I hope Coach turns luxe the way Amazon is gold standard for online shopping: good quality, what people want, and bigger picture considerations. My hopes are rarely good for a bottom line, and I suspect Coach with advertise its company as a high-end business, where its goods are only affordable to the rich. I don’t blame them. Sales don’t lie on who wants to buy a specific bag type.

As a side note, Mary Poppins’ bag was probably the coolest thing to happen to bags. I don’t need a hat stand or a potted plant, but who hasn't wished for an extra pair of shoes or a tape measure? I've carried both in my bag for work, and used them.

I was reading James Altucher’s book, Choose Yourself,  and he wrote that someone asked if he could teach a class. He immediately went into his ‘list mode,’ and tried to think of ten classes that he could teach. And he struggled. I was wondering if I could actually teach ten different topics. I’m not even sure if I know ten topics in depth enough to pass on any useful knowledge. I came up with six things that could potentially have a syllabus, or I could talk about it for an hour:

Research writing. I probably haven’t written as many papers as some people, but I still consider myself qualified enough to help someone make a good paper. What is good? Something that could get an idea across in a concise, clear way… aka somewhere in the A-B grade range.

Designing a garden. I recently designed plant arrangements for our double 3’ x 15’ front beds. It was a bit challenging because of the deer, and the shade, and figuring out what blooms most of the year.  It was a fun challenge, and I think if a class isn't in order, then I could make an app design on how to consider these factors.

Front yard beds at the Stewart Estate

Creating a piece of art for your living room. This class would mostly be about what things to consider if you are going to present your own art to people. It’s like a painting class, but also includes the context of a house, specifically, an area where there’s a lot of traffic.

Something I painted circa 2005

How to present yourself when you are afraid of public speaking. Maybe I’ll rename this to Public Speaking 101. I’m a whiz at providing helpful feedback (mostly because I am full of opinions), and also because I really want people to get better at something. When I was a technical trainer, I never thought to take any Toastmasters’ courses. I just practiced a whole lot (in the car, in the shower, etc.) so I could train myself out of the ‘um’s’ and fast talking.

Building your own computer. I built several, and my class would be a bit more useful than a Youtube video because I can explain it in terms a non-computery person would understand. There is a serious divide between people who like gadgets and electronic tools of all kinds, and those who don’t. I think a potential bridge involves analogies and humor.

My very first built desktop! I chose pink lights for the outside and blue LEDs for the inside.

Perfecting the chocolate chip cookie. This is my last idea, and I realized I started grasping at straws at this point because I already gave a presentation on this. In the summer of 2003, I baked no less than 1000 chocolate chip cookies because 1. They were cheap, and 2. They helped me get friends. It was fun to bake! Most importantly, I learned how to troubleshoot baking problems, such as flat cookies, and ‘cookie smoosh’ as well as what you can do with reject cookies (besides eat them straight). Here is my favorite recipe.

And this was my list. The next step might be to come up with topics that I would want to teach. What could I learn about and give back to someone else?

Incredible Luxuries: Poetry and Procrastination

I have a serious love-hate relationship with poetry. Like art, poetry can be unpleasing to multiple senses and emotions. Whenever I read someone else's poetry, I try to go in openminded, but the memories of particularly bad poetry conceive a reaction not unlike being in a crowded Walmart. 

People who encompass the intersection of good writing and expression are pre-approved (by me) to publish poetry. Wielding the written word awkwardly can leave the reader disjointed at best and contending with a visceral reaction at worst. It's apparent with pop songs and current marketing (i.e. modern poetry written for money) there is blatant avoidance of one or more of these attributes.* Since shit gets purchased all the time, my argument really has no gravity. No matter.

So that I'm not a complete jerkface, I offer some haikus I wrote in 2002 to justify the last ten minutes you spent reading this post. 

Procrastination.

Another late night for me.

The screen is my Light.

Theory is so good.

Predictions can come true with

probabilities.

You know what to do.

The problem is you're bored.

Stop wasting time!

*Taylor Swift's brand probably has this process down to a precise formula.

Self Help Flaws - Funeral Eulogies

Recently, I read an article on ThinkSimpleNow.com where the author found her life purpose by imagining her funeral eulogy. She was quite emotional, and realized that she was not going in the direction of where the eulogy she wanted was going.

I've always hated the question, "If you were at your funeral, what would you want people to say about you?"
Thoughts about your own mortality aside, this question is completely abstract and misleading. The real question under this question is, "What do you want to see yourself as?" "Who do you want to be?" There's no way to control what people really think of you, and it would be impolite to go into negative territory. I know this firsthand from going to my father's funeral. I didn't really know him too well, but I got the impression that he wasn't too influential on the community and that he didn't have anyone to vouch for him. So his funeral wasn't just bland, but the priest decided to take some religious leeway and turn my father's death into a lesson about fearing the Lord. Awkward.

I've been to other funerals that weren't so negative, but I don't remember a whole lot about them.

There are other issues I have with this question, which don't pertain to funerals in particular. In my life, I've transitioned friends, careers, and locations multiple times. Even with Facebook, I think my "close friend" network is about five people, and I'm not sure how long that will last. At the time of my funeral, I expect any eulogy to represent a snapshot of my life at that particular point, regardless of who I am today.