Life's Geometry

Last week, I got into a conversation with a friend about whether life is a straight line or a circle.   Actually, it started as one of those how-in-the-world-did-I-wind-up-here conversations.   In my view of the world, life always seemed to be a straight line--you set the course with a target in mind and you followed it.   Life was about "doing what you had to do."  It didn't always work out exactly as planned, but it generally followed a steady direction.  I was lamenting the feeling that I had wound up in a space i really hadn't intended to go.    

My friend suggested that was a distorted view of life.  Life is a circle (or a series of concentric circles) and life is about "being," not "doing."  By seeing life as a circle, we focus on being and growth takes place when we enlarge the circle or move to an ever larger circle.  

As usual, I took this out onto a tangent, which is often where I prefer to be in a discussion like this.  I remember in geometry that we were introduced to the process of making a curve by using a series of straight lines, adjusted only slightly by moving the ends of the line a tiny speck along two axes.  We did it by drawing a right angle (two axes, at a 90 degree angle), then marking off a series of points along each axis a small uniform distance apart.  Then, we would draw a line connecting the point farthest out on one axis (call it the X axis) to the point closest in on the other (Y-axis (i.e., the point closest to the intersection of the two axes).  Next, we drew lines connecting the next pair of points, gradually reaching the point where the last line now connected the closest point on the first axis (the X) to the farthest point on the other (the Y).  The result was a curve formed by the points where these lines came closest to touching each other.  It was a curve, constructed entirely of straight lines.  Now, there is a description of life, not as a purely straight line, but a curve formed by small adjustments in a whole series of straight lines.  A metaphor for all the adjustments we make in revising our goals in life.  

But, I still felt drawn to the notion of life as "being," not just "doing."  Geometry also provides an idea for the way that lines become circles.  Theoretically, a line with a starting point and no end point becomes a circle, doesn't it?  It stretches around the earth and meets up with the beginning point and becomes one big circle.  I can relate to winding up back where I started on any number of tasks or projects, believe me.   But how is this "being?"  And how do you expand the circle or move from one band between concentric circles to another?  I can see adjusting the curvature of the circle by something you do or learn, but then it isn't a circle anymore.  

I know life often seems as if we are going around in circles.  We wind up back in the same place we started, or faced with the same choices over and over again.  But sometimes when we face the same choices we break the cycle by making a choice that reflects a lesson learned, probably by reflection on past choices that were similar.  I think a new geometric model we hadn't considered when we had our conversation last week might work.  Life can be a spiral--one where we adjust the curvature of what seemed like a circle by something learned, or a choice modified.  Thus it becomes a spiral, the spiral passes what appears to be the same place when similar situations recur in life, but they are slightly different.  The 'you' facing this situation is different, certainly--the "you" this time around has the experience and learning acquired when you made this choice last time.  The model even accommodates the ups and downs of life--spiraling upwards and downwards?  I am starting to like this one.  But it is football season, and I can't help but think about a nice tight spiral on a perfect pass or a wobbly spiral on an errant one.  What can I make of that?  I don't know, why don't you just go long, and I'll see if I can throw it that far?

The One Hundred Page Test

Ever belong to a book club?  Call me old-fashioned, but I like to talk about books (or even movies) with an eye toward hearing someone talk about what they think/feel on the inside about their content.  People actually talking about what goes on inside them seem so rare these days.  Sure, you can get someone to talk about that game (baseball, basketball, hockey, football, Olympics, etc.) or about a news story, or about a politician’s latest effort to get attention, but to tell what goes on inside them?  Not so much.   

But still I have never been part of a book club.  It is probably a good excuse for a few glasses of wine with friends, so I am wondering why I never founded one myself.   Talking with a couple of friends who belong to one recently, I found you are required to read books chosen by other members.  As my dear wife observes, I don’t like anyone telling me what to do, but…  Listening to the books these two had to read, I asked if the object of the game was to test your willingness to be bored to death; sort of a contest to pick out the most obscure book and author.  That’s when they told me about their one hundred page test.  You just have to read the first hundred pages.  If the book doesn’t engage you in that amount of space, you drop it.  By that time, you have read enough to fake it at the wine fest—I mean book club meeting.  It really set me to thinking…

Where else could we apply that rule?  In family discussions about cell phone use?  What about conversations between husband and wife about who is “doing their share around here?”  I realize that conversations don’t come in pages.  They come in sentences, usually, although I know someone whose sentences run on and on, if you know what I mean.  Maybe we should consider one hundred words.  Yeah, we could use some kind of a word count.  Don’t worry; this will not interfere in any way with my listening and comprehension.  I can multi-task.  But, once I or my significant other reach the one hundred word count, further listening is OPTIONAL. 

But, now that I think about it, we are also going to have to measure frequency.  You can’t permit the lecturing (I mean speaking) party to just rewind the clock and start another word count.  Book clubs read one book a month, but lectures in families occur much more frequently.  Maybe we could try one a day (two for retired couples).  I am liking this idea.  There must be other opportunities, let me see…

Oh, it’s an election year.  Let’s apply this to political speech.  Sure, but what would we count?  The commercials are only 30 seconds long anyway.  But, they are repeated e-n-d-l-e-s-s-l-y.  Would we be able to apply the frequency rule?  How would the candidates spend their half-billion dollar war chest?  Wait, wait…what’s that?  You want to count syllables?

Just One of Those Days

We’ve grown accustomed to days like this one.  We awoke—me first, early for a Saturday.  Made some pumpkin spice coffee (a fall favorite we had found the day before, probably on the first day it was available).  I was slow getting started, unpacking luggage, placing recycling in the bin, folding laundry, hanging shirts.  Wanted to drink my quart of water first, then make a green smoothie—the start of yet another effort to drop a little weight before the wedding trip.  Grumbling that this was too late a start on a hot day, she let me drive to the beach, with only a little direction.  Once we were on the beach, life was good.  A steady breeze seemed to offset the too-warm sunshine and our walk was a delight, another beautiful day.  Company was on the way, by now.  They left at six AM.

Home, we parted.  She went to lunch, I power-washed the pool deck.  When she returned we talked about what to do with our day.  Seeing the grandkids?  Probably not, they have a lot going on—their dog died this week, and soccer practice has started.  Company?  Called her mobile phone, didn’t get through; left a message for the travelers.  A movie?  Nothing worth seeing, Clint Eastwood’s newest not coming until next week.  Besides, how do you do that on a day like this?  More beach?  No, company’s on the way, we’ll be beaching tomorrow.  

One of us decided a nap would be good, I read a book.  Two hours later, I had a plan.  We’d take a bike ride in Harbor Town, followed by a sunset meal.  We marveledat the effect of my new meds; walking, doing chores, power-washing the deck and taking a bike ride all in one day would have been unthinkable for me, instead it’s another complete beautiful day.     

By five, I had mounted the rack, inflated the tires and loaded the bikes.  We headed south, and were ready to ride.  First, we saw a collection of octagonal houses on stilts.  There are fifty of them near Harbor Town.  Next, we rode to the Baynard Ruins.  They have been there for nearly three centuries, the ruins are remarkable.  They offer clues to life a long time ago here--nothing like what we are enjoying today.  The weather was probably as beautiful, but what was life like, and how it than today?   

The sunset meal was remarkable.  How does this sound?  Crab cakes, shrimp, fish tacos and a little red wine.  But the real marvel was the sunset; just enough clouds in the west to paint a rosy canvas in the sky.  As we waited, it was warmer than we wanted, but once the sun hit the first cloud, it was near perfect. A beautiful day, indeed.  We headed home, company was on the way.

Putting It Together

I promised myself I'd bring along a book related to the places I visit, adding a dimension to travel that invites reflection. The challenge I have at the moment is how to put the two together. On this trip, it is putting the three together. I brought and read a novel about a fictitious town bearing an uncanny resemblance to the one I am visiting. I also learned of a book of poems by a local poet, and followed the directions on her web site to a tiny bookstore to find a copy. That was yet another dimension.
When I mentioned I had been directed to his wife's book shop, the husband who was minding the store marveled that a five hundred square foot bookstore could pop up on anyone's radar as a destination hundreds of miles away. At any rate, I enjoyed the poems, and the poet's sense of appreciation for the local natural resources—dunes, trees, a river and a Great Lake. No doubt that book, read quickly once, and piece-by-piece later, enhanced the experience of natural surroundings here, pulling me out to take in my surroundings.
But what about the novel? It was a ghost story…. In her prologue, the author observed that people around "her neck of the woods (Michigan) don't have the need or inclination to spin yarns. Our real lives furnish plenty of material." In the story, a couple moves into a 120 year-old home (as I write this, I am on the 2^nd floor porch of a home built at the end of the 19^th century, I think). The rest of the novel deals with their home's unexpected inhabitant, a woman who died there in the 1930's and how they learn of the tragic events that overtook her in those final days. It was an interesting story and held elements I could see in this real town, even as a visitor. First, there is the natural beauty of the area, then some of its characters. The dunes and the lake are part of the backdrop for the story. As I walk among them, I notice more than I have in the past. Next, the old houses are still here, as I mentioned. There are enough of them to allow me to have a better sense of the atmosphere of the book, and, in turn, appreciate more the real town's atmosphere.
And what about the characters? I met a pompous old woman who seemed to know everyone and had stories to tell about them (although she remains the central character in every story she tells). I was also reminded that this town (the real one) can be a friendly community of year-round people, but they turn out to be fickle and turn against "newcomers" (those who haven't been coming here for generations) in a minor controversy, dropping their friendly manner completely. Both of these types figured in the story of the ghost's tragic life and death.
I am struck by how lucky it was that I hit upon two works that fit so perfectly the place I visited. Not sure how I will go about replicating the fit, but I will try. Anybody know any good stories set in Sonoma, CA?

Apples for the Creature

We didn't know the summer's almost tragic heat wave and dry spell in the Midwest would do it, but we arrived in Southwest Michigan too early for the "self-pick" apple season. We talked it over and decided the farmer's market would serve as our distant second choice to gather our supply of honey crisps, but he didn't know.
My sister and I took a guided tour of the newly dedicated dunes preservation area; it was beautiful, though the tour guide didn't contribute much to our enjoyment. Still, it was natural beauty of a sort we didn't usually have in an apple orchard, and it was a gorgeous day. The sky was brilliantly clear, and a stiff breeze brought whitecaps into the beach in droves. We walked a while and learned a few things about the history of the area we had never known, but he didn't know.
We piled into the car, equipped with a stroller to help tote the produce we planned to buy, and a few extra bags. Still gorgeous, the day allowed for a leisurely survey of the stands and their offerings. As we reached the far end, we saw one stand closing up and loading the truck with what little was unsold by the close of the third hour. The paper said the market would be open for six hours, but that apparently didn't mean every stand would stay until the end. Farmers' markets run at the pleasure of the farmers, after all, and most people set out for the market in the early to mid part of the day, and not the late afternoon, we decided it was time to buy, but he didn't know.
I found a stand selling baked goods and supplied the shoppers with bites of the marvelous cookies the Amish farmers had brought. Later, the shoppers decided I was being too stingy with the bites of cookie and made their own visit, rendering my service redundant. We filled the back of the car with our purchases, including a bushel of honey crisps, but he didn't know.
When we pulled up at home, we divided the spoils, and set them on our respective porch steps. Deer had been steadily eating the flowers and gourds from plantings around the house, so later we decided to move them to the porch. My sister has a screen door on the first floor porch, but the rest of the porch is not screened. The screen doors seemed to be simply symbolic barriers to keep toddlers inside and dogs and deer off the porch. When we went to bed, we locked the screen doors, making our intentions known—no one is allowed on the porch tonight. But he didn't know.
In the morning, there was one bag of apples strewn across the porch, and most of the half-dozen apples had been grasped by small paws and chewed by small teeth. The apples were not for him, but he didn't know.

Creating Yourself

I guess I'm the only one who's never heard this one—"Life isn't about finding yourself, life is about creating yourself." (George Bernard Shaw). While exploring this one, I ran across two others, not entirely related.  I'll tell you how I ran into them, but first, Shaw's idea.
My sense is that "creating yourself" in Shaw's context puts all the possibilities on the table. You set out, not to find something finite or determined, but to create. The dictionary says to create is "to cause to come into being, as something unique that would not naturally evolve or that is not made by ordinary processes." I'm starting to like this create yourself thing. Something "unique" that wouldn't "evolve (or happen) naturally" and is "not made by ordinary processes." It's sounding more like the kind of life I want to live. It is wide open, uniquely my own and extra-ordinary. Where do I sign? Each time I reflect on this creating yourself instead of finding yourself, it makes more sense.
Don't get me wrong. It is a challenge, especially when I catch myself flipping over and starting to change direction or change what I am doing because of what someone else might say or think. A friend of mine calls this act of carrying about "supposed to's" the infernal bugaboo (that's a technical term for an object of obsessive fear or anxiety, infernal bugaboo is probably synonymous with the devil). In short, 'supposed to's" are not good. She pointed it out when I was refraining from doing something because I assumed I was supposed to. This sounds like the opposite of creating yourself, but instead trying to conform oneself to others' imagined expectations. That leads me to the second quote I ran across while looking into George Bernard Shaw's quote. "He who trims himself to suit everyone will soon whittle himself away." (Raymond Hull). If you work at making yourself pleasing to others instead of creating that unique, extra-ordinary self, you may be left with not-very-much.
Something else that occurs to me about creating yourself is the enjoyment it can bring. Enjoying the world is part of that creative process—spending time in nature, hiking, riding, sailing—however you do it—is a beginning of creating oneself, I think. Then look at the act of creating things like essays, stories, books, pictures, paintings, drawings, furniture, etc. That can be another facet of creating yourself. Both facets involve enjoying the world. Still another facet is responding to a calling to serve others or some other cause you espouse to make the world a better place. That brings me to another quote, from my favorite essayist, E. B. 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." Good luck on planning yours, I'm going for a walk.