Correction

In my last post, "Jelly Beans and Excuses," I accidently left the word "not" out of the phrase "this dialogue did arise out of regrets." What I meant to say was "this dialogue did not arise out of regrets." I have since changed the error, and you can reread the last paragraph in its intended form. I am embarrassed by my lack of proofreading.

I tend to do a lot of embarrassing things. Last week I was on the underground, and as the train was beginning to pull away from the platform, I reached out to grab a pole to steady myself. My fingertips were inches away from grasping it when a sudden lurch caused me to fall backwards onto someone's luggage. It was not a graceful fall. It was the slow motion kind where it appeared, to me and probably everyone watching, that I had more than one opportunity to stop myself before collapsing on what was probably some guy's tennis raquet or picture frame. But, unfortunately for myself and the luggage, I didn't. And, to add more awkwardness to the situation, I asked two people whose bag I thought it was if I had broken anything, neither of whom turned out to be its actual owner.

I guess in comparison, a typo in a blog post isn't that big of a deal.

Jelly Beans and Excuses

Cemetery Sketch 1

I could not stay awake in my American art history class a couple years ago. It was 8:30 a.m., the lights were dim, and I had just worked a 3 ½ hour shift at my custodial job. And I had other excuses as to why it was impossible. But one day my professor, who apparently was annoyed that I was only awake for 20% of his class, put a soap-flavoured jelly bean on the table up front and issued the threat that the first person to fall asleep would have to eat it. I stayed awake. And I realized that it was not too hard. I simply needed the right motivation.

There is always an easy way out. And it doesn’t seem like it’s such a big deal the first time you say “it’s too hard” but pretty soon that phrase is stamped with a large red X over every worthy opportunity in your path. Sometimes you don’t even have to acknowledge that you’re passing things by. You just veer slightly to the left or right to avoid an obstacle, then another one. The path of least resistance makes men and rivers crooked, and whether you credit evil or entropy, the easy way does not lead anywhere worth going.

I’m not usually lazy, and this dialogue did not arise out of regrets. But I am reevaluating my excuses. Some of them are valid—not all of us can do everything. But even if it takes oddly-flavored jelly beans, I want to make sure I’m doing the most I can.

Musings from a Bus Ride to Bath

Right now I'm on a bus, riding through the English countryside. It's not too different from any other countryside I've traversed, except the bus is on the left side of the road and the bones of my ancestors have lain here longer. The sky is as big here as it is in the desert, and the clouds are just as dynamic. The villages date back farther I suppose, and the rooves are thatched.

I just saw Stonehenge for the first time. As I looked at those stones that stood vertical before any known record bore witness of their existence, I wished I had been here before the roads. Perhaps even before the villages and maybe while the outer circle still guarded the inner one.

I've been in England for almost three weeks now. This is my second international traveling experience, my first being a visit to Caribbean islands that were reconstructed in the image of this place--with tin rooves replacing thatched ones. The West Indies were adopted and abandoned by the British and other European countries, and what is left is a facade intended to fool both its visitors and its inhabitants.

While I was there, I compared the real Caribbean to the pictures, films, and dollar store calendars that depict it. And now I find myself again comparing the original to the copy--the old world to its facade in the new one.

Before today I had already seen Stonehenge represented in a variety of media and circumstances. Though I barely allowed the thought to enter my mind, I felt tainted by my tendency to compare it to its image that comes with Windows to be used as a desktop background. Does there exist a more banal representation of a more revered monument to world history?

Not that I can think of. And as the bus continues on to Bath, I wonder how much it will resemble the pictures online.

Arm pits and Adaptability

If you have read one or more of my posts, you probably have come to the conclusion that I am not a person that likes crowds. It's true. While I enjoy parties, big cities, and 75% off sales on occasion, I don't gravitate toward them. Most of my life has been spent in wide open spaces less than or equal to ten minutes from something that has stayed relatively the same for thousands of years like a mountain, forest, or river.

Today, and, presumably every day for the next several weeks, I commuted to work by shoving my way through several blocks of people, squeezed onto the tube next to at least seven arm pits, and continued through narrow stairways to my final destination.

It was a long day. But I guess, as I have mentioned before, human beings are fairly adaptable creatures. Stubborn, but adaptable. I remained calm through my almost two hours of transportation adventures today, because it's the way it is. There is no way around it.

It's got its perks too, like the endless people-watching opportunities, and the gratitude I feel when I find fresh air again.

No Way Out

I love Agatha Christie novels. I don't regard them as great literature, but her plots are intriguing and entertaining, and they offer me an escape from 2010 America to 1924 Britain. This particular conversation stood out to me today.

"Has it ever struck you," Porter said, "that civilisation's damned dangerous?"

"Dangerous?" Such a revolutionary remark shocked Mr. Satterthwaite to the core.

"Yes. There are no safety valves, you see."

Perhaps that is what I've been looking for—a safety valve. Unlike Mr. Porter, I think they exist. I've spent the summer wanting to escape through a safety valve in the form of a sunny, muddy, moderately-paced river. But right now I'm flowing through a narrow tube at high pressure right into London. Yes—London. And there's no way out. Not that I want one, I think.

Ebbing and Flowing

There has been no breaking news in my life lately. My plants are growing as expected, my apartment is clean, my stuff is organized. I attend various social events and occasionally meet new people. I read and paint and work.

I kind of think that everyone goes through periods of their life where they simply bob up and down with the ebb and flow of the tide. At one point or another, they probably feel like consistency is more difficult than tribulation.

I've experienced some pretty turbulant (literal) waters. As a river guide, I got to see some pretty decent rapids. The rush of successfuly rowing through those waves is incredible. But for all of the time I've spent in water, I am not a strong swimmer. Last summer, this particular weakness caused my nose to break as it collided with the ocean floor in Maracas Bay, Trinidad. I'm not familiar with ocean currents, so when a large wave came I got worked. In fact I feel fortunate that a broken nose is the only injury I sustained from that incident.

Conclusion: While the little ups and downs of every day life can become monotonous, I think they're important--they allow the rush of great victories to sink in, and the broken noses of failure to heal.

Word of the Day: Undulatoriness

"The grand and majestic have always somewhat of the undulatoriness of the sphere. It is the secret of majesty in the rolling gait of the elephant, and of all grace in action and in art. Always the line of beauty is a curve."

--Henry David Thoreau, "The Service"