Sunday--Doing Nothing or Being No Place.

Sundays often present some options that the rest of the week does not.  What are we doing, where are we going?  Despite my best efforts to leave Sunday wide open, my better half will start asking the day before.  On a pretty day, do I really want to commit to driving someplace?  Driving is driving, especially if you are not going anyplace new.  Our outside temperature will be over seventy degrees, with plenty of sunshine.  We could stay at home, ride our bikes or walk on the beach, although that actually will be nothing new either.  Trying hard not to be complacent about activities that aren't available to everyone in December, but it's looking like our most likely alternative is going nowhere.  I say being not very active helps us contemplate the here and now, which is all we have anyway.  

Another common Sunday activity--watching football on TV--is pleasant enough, but we'd have to go to a sports bar somewhere to see the only team playing today that I want to see (Da Bears).  Last week we met a couple visiting for a few weeks from NY at the bar while we watched a game and they picked up carryout ribs (from the best barbecue place in Hilton Head).    Chances are we would not see them again anyway.  Getting caught up in football can be fun, if your team is succeeding.  But, how you feel about it whether they succeed or not is up to you.  Sometimes it's just fun to be in a group watching.

We could sit at the beach and read, but that's more of a summer activity--the breeze this time of year makes reading a challenge--blowing the pages around fiercely.  As I think about it, I am behind in my reading.  I have no less than five I am in the process of reading.  I can do that with non-fiction books.  TIme to finish one, wouldn't you say?  I don't know, keeping them all going at once, you cannot help but see their interconnectedness--in part because you don't remember where the earlier thought you are connecting came from when you have that many books going.  But, interconnectedness is another facet of life I like to revisit on Sundays.

Is this what depression is like?  You look at all the possibilities, then do nothing?  It seems like I read every day.  I have thought for some time that Sundays are for doing nothing much--if that's what pleases you.  Doesn't sound depressing to me.  I am however married to someone who wants to be "doing something" every day.  It's probably good for me, as I might otherwise retreat into books and football.  Together we achieve a kind of balance, doing nothing or going somewhere, being no place or doing something.  Today, I'll try to do and go while being no place in particular.  Or will I go someplace and do nothing special?  The trick is to focus on the rest of the world and not on your own self, which is mostly a figment of your mind and imagination.  Either way, it's a Sunday mindset.  I'd better go...

Harder Than Calculus

Remember Calculus?  I was born the third son of a math teacher, she had earned a master's degree in math before any of us were born.   I thought I had inherited her math gene until I met Calculus.  Until then I had taken honors' classes in math and actually scored slightly better on math-related portions of standardized tests.  I was a lucky tester, I think.  It helped when it came to financial aid, even more than having an uncle who worked at the University I wound up attending (it's true, my Uncle Bart was the Director of Development there when I attended college).  

It was in my first semester at college that I hit the proverbial wall in math--Calculus.  Part of the problem was a language barrier between my teacher and his English-speaking students.  We all found ourselves on our own in learning calculus, in light of the fact that we could not understand a word he said in class.  We only knew the homework assignments because he wrote them on the blackboard each class.  

That class was also the first where I saw my friend, Mike Heier, employ the constant-questioning technique.  He would take a seat in the first row of the classroom and raise his hand not less than ten times per class.  He would then ask long, convoluted questions that our instructor could not understand, only partly due to the aforementioned language barrier--Mike's questions tended toward gibberish and malarkey.  On meeting Mike several weeks into the semester and asking him about those questions he explained the technique he was utilizing.  His object was to slow the instructor down sufficiently to limit the number of chapters that he could cover in time to include them in the next exam.  Mike had mistakenly assumed that there was some sort of principle involved that teachers would never violate--"Never include material on the test that was not covered in class."  Mike was able to disabuse all of us of the notion that college instructors played fair (we were pretty naive).  

I looked up my grade on an old transcript, believe it or not, and I received a "B."  That didn't matter.  I knew mathematics and I were through.  Somewhere along the trail of differential equations and integral calculus, from the venerable Isaac Newton to Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz (developer of the Leibniz Notation), I had fallen off my horse and I had no intention of getting back on.  This was first semester in college, for heaven's sake!  I had nothing else to do but study.  I was in four Honors classes, and had "A's" going in everything else.  But there was some kind of block, and I was getting more interested in the study of people than applied mathematics.  I turned toward Behavioral Science and never looked back.  I struggled when I had to take the lone required Statistics class, but I survived.  

There are few things I found harder than Calculus.  Need a few examples?  Hmmm, understanding women probably makes the list.  Then, there is golf, an art I cannot seem to master--the more I play, the worse I get.  My best rounds take place after extended absences from the game.  A jump-shot in basketball--I usually wound up back on the ground before I released the ball.  Jumping rope--my personal trainer has me trying that one again.  I am up to five circuits now--a circuit is my word for completing one jump over the rope and having the rope clear my head coming back around for the next jump.  Shag dancing--I admit I have only taken one lesson, but really, do you think it's because I am left-handed?  I am always turning the wrong way.  The totally unfair thing about this last one is that I love beach music.    

All this came back to me this week when my yoga instructor mentioned "differential muscular inhibition," while explaining what happens when you tense one of a pair of opposing muscles in learning a yoga pose.  She was proud of herself for using a highbrow word like "differential" in a sentence, especially after explaining she had spent only one week in Calculus, having dropped it in a hurry.  One of her students mentioned the pose she had us in was "much harder than calculus."  As much as I was sweating in the attempt, I had to agree.  If you were watching me perform my own brand of yoga, you might observe that all the poses I try to learn are difficult, but I expect that thought will come back to me as long as I continue to take breath (and study yoga).  "Some moves in yoga are harder than calculus."  

Writing While Staying Open to Life's Possibilities

Some days this writing stuff is a challenge.  I started carrying around a little notebook, trying to capture ideas I can turn into essays like this one.  The challenge is being able to read the things I jotted down when the thought struck.  I haven't even looked this time, I was hoping for a more spontaneous inspiration.  Still waiting.

On Wednesday of this week, I got up a little early to go to the gym.   It was the Wednesday before Thanksgiving.  I noticed something odd.  For at least 55 years, I have experienced some little tingle of anticipation on that Wednesday.  Four days off in a row!  Today, there was nothing.  I knew I had as many days off as I want (retired, you know).  

Please Note: I didn't count first grade, I probably liked school too much that year because I liked Sister Dorothy.  Fact is, I don't remember for certain which grade this first came up, all I know is that by second grade we had a negative nickname for our teacher.  Sister Mary Borgia was "Bubblegum Borgia" as she was always working her jaw as if she were chewing gum--probably swallowing her own dismay at how far we had to go in the short year she had with us.

Had she known some of what others before her had discovered, she might not have felt the need to swallow her frustration.  My sense, even at that age, was that she saw patience as something along the lines of waiting for all these pupils (that was the word back then, not students) to align with what she expected.  She had the old "wait and see" kind of patience, followed closely by the wish to "get this over with."  Hence, the chewing; she had to go through this year after year.  How much more fun could her existence have been if she had decided to "just be there."  If she had only decided to be open to whatever came her way,  If she had avoided creating fixed expectations about her pupils and their behavior, she might not have gotten so worked up.  Oh, I know she got worked up some times.  She was also the first teacher to administer corporal punishment in the classroom.  Nothing too serious, but we could all have enjoyed that year a little more if she had a different view of patience.  

You see, if she had no set idea of what was supposed to happen, she might not have gotten stuck on things not happening in the specific time frame she wanted.  Instead, she might have tried just being there, open to life's possibilities.  Second grade, and life itself are far better if we stay open to what is possible, not chained to what is expected.  Second graders can be fun, I think.  So employing a different kind of patience might make life different somehow.  It even leaves you open to new ideas about what to write about.         

Giving Thanks Without A List, A Holiday, or A Sale

When Thanksgiving rolls around, is a list in order?  I don't think I am prepared for that.  I always have to worry about what I leave out if I do.  But, if a truce holds in Gaza, I think that would be at the head of most lists, even this list-that-is-not-a-list..  

If you were making a list, you would include family on it--at least most of your family.  But if you get down to listing family members so you can leave some out, you run the risk of leaving someone out for whom you are thankful.  It's fun to poke fun at families that struggle with the annual get-together that is Thanksgiving. Jokes and sitcoms poke lots of fun, and sometimes those efforts hit the nail on the head.  But my son reminded me today that Thanksgiving is something no one should have to do alone.  He found three or four people without family this Thanksgiving, so they are joining us at his house, making them family for the day.  In light of that, I'd say family has to make this-list-that-is-not-a-list.  

There are risks if you start listing friends on that list of what for you are thankful for.  I have some dear friends I am especially thankful for, a few of whom I have reminded of that fact today.  But I won't succumb to making a list.  I would find myself remembering to list my current friends, and risk forgetting my oldest friends.  What happens if I rekindle and reconnect, how do I explain that they didn't make the list?  It gets complicated.  As for me, I think I have to put another item on this list--connection with friends, whether the connection is current or was once upon a time.  It will surprise you, if ever you enjoy the same opportunity I am enjoying this month--seeing how quickly it all comes back when you reconnect with long lost friends.  Gee, this not-a-list is getting a bit longer.  

I could go on, now that I am giving in to the urge to make a list--listing all of those things that are part of my life today for which I am thankful--friends, family, health, sunshine, rain, love, generosity to those in need, food for the hungry, compassion in all its forms, even disease when it teaches us to treasure the time we have.  Then there are beaches, the ocean, birds, trees, flowers, dolphins, whales, turtles, alligators, dogs, geckoes (not the ones that sell insurance), wind, waves, sunsets, red moons, apples, pumpkins, even brussels sprouts.  You see how painful this is going to be?  Let's compromise, just add this one to the list--the reminders all around us to be thankful for all things.  

It will take more time that I have to make the list one that I am satisfied with, which was why I didn't want to start in the first place.  But I want to go back to that last one, the reminders to be thankful.  I am thankful for that one especially.  I had the opportunity to send Thanksgiving greetings to an old friend tonight who lives in Sweden.  It struck me as odd that he probably doesn't observe the holiday there--Thanksgiving is uniquely American, I think.  He grew up with me and probably remembers. He may be ahead of us in one respect, as he reflects on what he's thankful for this time of year, he probably isn't being bombarded with Black Friday sales ads, and for that I am sure he is thankful.  

Thanks everyone, or as one of my neighbors once said, "thanks to all y'all."    

Waiting

The grandkids are over, taking turns on the iPad.  The hardest part, once you insist the one waiting for a turn cannot touch for a while, is focusing on something else.  The almighty TV doesn't distract them (I am thankful for that, really).  Today, we are trying the specific time routine.  When the one not playing asks, "When is it my turn?"  We set a time, and show them the digital display on the microwave.  The waiting child then stands in front of the microwave announcing the passing of each minute (allowing for a few distractions, it is probably two minutes out of three).  Time flies when you're having fun.

When you are little, you have no real control over things, the adults are in charge (or we like to think so).  This little aggravation--always waiting for when the adults say it's time--is multiplied ten-fold by the immediate gratification gene.  Any time an idea surfaces that sounds like fun, the child wants to do it immediately.  Adults seize the opportunity then to condition the fun idea on, not just the passage of time, but also good behavior.  I wonder if this isn't their first encounter with living outside the moment.  Until then, the child seems to just enjoy doing whatever he or she is doing.  When they begin having to wait, to delay gratification, they leave the moment and start living in anticipation of the future, waiting instead of just enjoying what is before them in the moment.       

The kids think the adults are in control (and, secretly, the adults wonder if the kids are and not them).  We adults have been around long enough to know that we are not in charge of much in this world.  Everything changes.  We want to hold onto some things, to get rid of others,  We have the urge to have, to be and to know with certainty.  This is attachment.  To long to be rid of certain things is aversion.  Between them, they sew up the universe of difficulty we confront nearly every minute.  The Buddha called it "suffering." which may overstate things a bit.  "Discomfort" might be a better fit.  Anyway, we spend much of our adult lives chasing happiness in things--in having them, in being a certain way, or in knowing certain things.  In fact, happiness, or the cessation of suffering lies in letting go of the future (and the past sometimes).  How we do this seems to take a lifetime to learn.  So, we wait.  

I Think, Therefore I Am?

Rene Descartes was a French philosopher.  Apparently, his job was to think, then write.  The question I have to ask is how did he do his thinking?  Did he sit around in a bath like Socrates?  Did he even talk with other people, or did he just think alone?   It is said that he had a series of dreams that formed the foundation of his philosophy.  From those dreams he formed his famous first truth.   But, this was clearly not the product of an all night drinking party (those Ancient Greeks and Romans again--look up what a symposium was--it was a drinking party).  No, Descartes' philosophy was a solo act.  He sat there examining his own experience and his own mind, deducing his basis for existence--his thought.  If his thought exists, then so must he.  

But I'm not smart enough to pursue that whole notion.  Deep thinking in solitude more than likely would put me to sleep.  Wait, maybe that's the kind of sleep Descartes fell into, then dreamed up the basis for existence!  Probably not.  

But, put me in a group talking about something like this and I feel alive.  "When I think, I feel alive."  If only I could remember how to say that in Latin, it would sound so much more profound.  After all, Descartes rewrote his that way, "Cogito, ergo sum."  When I came to that conclusion, it sounded to me at first like I was treading the same ground as Descartes had (just a thought, a leap of absurdity, I know).  Even so, I did a little reading about Descartes, and realized he was a solitary thinker.  Probably was never on the same page.  

Nevertheless, I agree with Descartes.  What I think is telling me something.  I don't know exactly how to do something about it.  I can try to hang around with people who will talk about these things, but I don't know exactly where they hang out.  Discussions involving deep thought seem to be few and far between these days.  

I could write a book, but that is a kind of solitary activity.   It becomes very private, in a sense, when one tries to write a serious book.  The author becomes sort of protective about the book, not wanting it to see the light of day until it's ready.        

Then there's the whole thing about the discomfort some people feel about sharing space with those who do not share their opinions.  Often discussions that make you think occur when opinions conflict, or, put another way, people share thoughts that may not yet be fully formed and ready for a steadfast defense.  That is OK.  It really is beyond me to take in why people have become convinced that the proper thing to do about someone who strongly holds or even offers, an opinion or an observation with which they disagree is to belittle them or worse.  

Political discourse in this country seems to be devoted to that approach.  Hence, little or no honest exchange of thought occurs.  As a result, no middle ground can be found.  I find that those moments when I am thinking, and therefore feel most alive are occurring less and less often.  They are pushed aside by many people who replace them either with ridicule of others or silence.  It is certainly predictable that people will be uncomfortable sharing thoughts for which they might be attacked.        

Why not try it?  Find a safe situation where you can express a thought and feel alive.  The first step is to start listening without judgement to what others who might not agree with you have to say.  Be willing to accept the discomfort that comes with sharing space with people who don't share your opinion.  You might learn something, and you might just feel a bit more alive for a little while.  

Itis Is A Pain

My yoga teacher never tires of translating Sanskrit terms into English, sometimes in fanciful ways.  She claims she does this merely to keep them straight in her own mind, but I believe she is trying to brainwash us or worse, turn us into purveyors of cornball humor.  For example, "-asana" in Sanskrit is loosely translated as "pose."  

For example, savasana is "corpse pose."  "Sav-" must be the root word for corpse and "-asana" is pose.  Virasana is the hero pose (Vir- looks like it comes from virile).  Sometimes it gets out of hand, and we are into analyzing roots for four or five syllable words with multiple prefixes, all the while we (her class) are straining to hold a pose.  

I had a French professor in college who was like that.  Professor Gookin knew multiple languages and was really a Linguistics professor.  He would get started on explaining the derivation of a word and go on for most of the class.  Some of us tried to encourage this as we got closer to the end of a quarter, since he would only test us on the chapters we completed.  A class spent wandering far afield explaining the history of a word meant a chapter we would not cover in time for the mid-term.  

Back to the yogi, she has spent months teaching me "old-guy-asana;" moves and poses are similar to real yoga, but with an old guy's limited ability to reach and stretch.  Usually this is characterized by improvement, as each time, the old guy bends and stretches a little farther than he did the day before.  One of her recent forays into the world of words was explaining that "Itis is a pain."  Among medical professionals, when you see the suffix "-itis," it usually means inflammation.  But pain is commonly associated with inflammation, so she was, as usual, mostly right.  I can think of dozens of "-itises" like appendicitis, arthritis, bronchitis, gingivitis, tendonitis-- and they all sound painful.  

She has more than once offered the opinion that yoga can cure arthritis.  She qualifies that statement by pointing out that it cures it in the sense that it can reduce or eliminate the pain.  Once again, lots of medical professionals would agree, exercise can help reduce the pain of arthritis.  It also provides a better range of movement and joint mobility, increased muscle strength, less stiffness and increased energy.  

So, we gather several times a week to shed our "-itises" while learning Sanskrit and holding poses, strenuous as that sometimes seems.  There must be a word in Sanskrit for this, but in English I am sure there's another '-itis" in it somewhere.